


not yet named

by Beautiful_blues



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Seeking a Friend for The End of the World AU, idk where this is going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:45:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_blues/pseuds/Beautiful_blues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today, 10 days from when it ends, my life finally begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not yet named

I was in nothing but boxers when I first heard the world was ending. It was a pretty pathetic scene, to be honest. A single lonely gay man sitting on his couch eating Ramen in his shabby apartment (where he lived alone) had just learned life as he knew it would be over within a week and he didn't do shit. But then, what was there to do? There was no one to share looks of shock with, no one to cry on. So I simply did what came natural; flicked the tv off and uttered a single "damn."

My alarm wakes me up the next morning at 8:15 exactly. I get up and begin my morning routine as usual, can't be late to work. I bemusedly think to myself that Pete is going to be pissed once that meteor wipes us out and we don't show up on time. We'll be at least an hour late. I cut myself shaving and cuss silently as the blood begins to ooze. Oh well, I think, it's not like it's the end of the world. Haha. "Shut up," I say to myself in the mirror. You're not funny, asshole. I walk to the Smoothie Hut as quickly as possible, praying not to run into any trouble. Crime has exploded ever since the news went out. Who cares about consequences when we'll all be dead in just over a week? Each day the world becomes more and more like the Purge. God, another depressing thought. How have I lived long enough to see the end of the world without killing myself already? I'm a real downer. 

The bell that rings as I enter is altogether too cheery and the bright colors of the building seem like a joke. Yet here I am 9:00 sharp because people need smoothies and I need cash to keep myself alive. I have no doubts that the former will do their part willingly and chat and laugh and act as normal as usual as they filter in and out the place. The people who aren't out robbing stores and setting fires to anything the government owns will still act the same when told they have 10 days left, if they aren't violent or greedy people at heart then they simply don't know what else there is to do. Spend the time with your family, maybe splurge and get that thing you wanted. But nothing too different. If they really treated it like the end of the world it'd be far too real. I'm one to talk though. 20 years old and I'm too afraid to quit my dead-end smoothie job to do anything that matters. I've thought about contacting my family in the last few days, but I haven't spoken to them in years. What do you say to the people that kicked you out of your own home when its 4 years later and you have 10 days left? You make amends, I suppose. I continue to ponder over this thought as I open up, flipping switches and shuffling chairs. Pete comes out briefly but doesn't even say a "hello." I don't care. My fellow workers gradually arrive too, along with the customers. Everything seems so sickeningly familiar and my stomach churns at the thought that this place might be one of the last places I lay my eyes on before I die. Suddenly The End seems too much like reality and I feel nauseous. I can't stand to look at the place. I stare down at the counter as my hands are wrapped around a blender doing it's job. No. This can't be it. This smoothie place can't be where I spend some of my last moments, I have things I need to do still, "fuck yous" I still have to say, or alternatively, apologies to be given or accepted.

Whichever, they won't happen if I remain cooped up at this place a second longer.

My hands leave the blender and the whirring stops. I know what I have to do but I'm not sure how to do it. I decide to go with quick and painless - rip the band aid off. But I can't help adding a touch of dramatics. I've been told by many I'm a drama queen. I yank my ugly neon green apron over my head and drop it on the ground, earning a confused look from my coworker. I march back to the office where Pete is currently residing, not a single idea of what I'm going to do once I get there. I burst through the door abruptly - my first sign of disobedience as Pete always insists that we knock first - and fully ready to make a scene when the words die in my throat. Pete's there, sitting on his desk but his clothes aren't. In their place is a very similarly naked Patrick. I don't know how to react at seeing my young coworker fucking my boss on his desk right when I was about to announce my quitting. Oddly, my first thought is "So that's why he wanted us to knock."

Pete swears loudly once he sees me, causing Patrick to jump off of him and make a quick grab for his clothes. "Get the hell out of here Brendon!" Pete shouts. I stutter and turn around to leave, tripping when I feel a shoe hitting the back of my head. I pick up the pace, running out of the back as my fellow employees stare at me. "You're fired!" Pete's voice shouts at me from the back. I push the glass door open and start to run home, only stopping when I'm half a mile away. As I walk home and try to catch my breath, I laugh in disbelief. 

Today, 10 days from when it ends, my life finally begins.


End file.
